New Year, New Wrinkle

As I was driving to the office today, I had to turn off the podcast I was listening to, in order to allow the thought bubble to percolate right at the tippy top of my temporal lobe. 

The thought that had been marinating ever since my sister and I reconciled in late July 2017--a reconciliation mom went to her grave not knowing about: 

What if my sister only reconciled with me, knowing she needed a lot of help to empty mom's house out to be sold off, with the proceeds to go to Shady Pines? 

Here it is nearly 3.5 years after we reconciled, and I guess I can only deduce that on a subliminal and perhaps other cognitive levels, I don't trust the state of things.

I hardly hear from her (same thing with her kid who turns 19 in a couple weeks). The mind riddled with grief and the void left behind with mom's death really does a number on me.

In so many ways, I feel as if mom's family has forsaken me (with the exception of a couple first cousins-once-removed. I hear from no one--and that includes her sister, who for the majority of my life I *thought* was an ally, only for me to realize in 2018 how jealous and petty and manipulative she truly is). Christmas and New Year's came and went without even so much as one of her superficial texts full of emojis and zero depth. No card. No nothing. I wish I could say it doesn't hurt.

Same thing goes for that friend, or "frenemy," or whatever you want to call that former co-worker who retired the end of September. I ate lunch with her for 17 years, and actually gave far more of a shit about her than she has about me. I can't tell if the lack of a text or card was because she finally got the hint that I'm done with her, or that she's just following her modus operandi of putting zero effort into relationships. And I'll say it again, I wish I could say this doesn't hurt, too.

The pandemic isn't making any of this easier. All the things I'd normally do to distract myself (visits with friends, lunches out, shopping, self care like pedicures or deep tissue massage etc) are shelved until this plague is under control. 

My life these days is just alternating working in the office and working from home, and my only outings are for groceries, or a weekly laundry drop off/pick up, and a Sunday night dash to pick up dinner from a restaurant. Maharajah is the entirety of my socialization, and save for hugging a coworker who retired right before Thanksgiving--Maharajah has been the solitary person I've touched.

A friend/co-worker visited with me in the office today (masked up and at a distance), needing a UPS parcel to go out, and he really is one of the very few people at work who give-a-shit now. We talked about the current state of things. He even managed to get me to laugh--even if it wasn't a sustained, hearty laugh. 

I have this sense of loneliness that I just can't shake. And I'm lucky to have the Maharajah--and some good friends who check in on me (just about) daily. But I have this loneliness or longing for calls I'll never have with mom again--I want to believe we were as good as it was going to get with us; or texts with Susan; or a more profound relationship with my sister. 

As hokey as it sounds, at some point after dad died, he visited me in a dream, and said, "I know what you've been up to." And somehow that still brings me comfort. As of today's date, mom's been gone 8 months, and not a peep from her from the great beyond. 

All of the anger from all of my earlier posts from years ago right up until the virus was in her nursing home is giving way to loads of sadness and regret--and lots of the regret for things outside my control--regret for things MOM should or could have done and had not. 

A dear friend/co-worker of mine of the last 18 years said it best, "You did the best you could, under the circumstances." I wish I had the opportunity to say those words to mom. She wasn't perfect. "Damaged people, damage people." I think on some level she knew that (otherwise why else would she have asked me what kind of mother she was). 

I wish she'd visit me in my dreams, so I could tell her that.

And here I am, yet again, sitting at my desk in my nearly vacant office, sobbing.

So, excuse me if I'm not jolly and wishing people a Happy New Year. I'm not feeling happy or joyful. And, yanno what? I think I need to feel this way for a while.

Sweet Sue, Part Two

Life is indeed a wild, wild trip. Last night I was baking cookies for a holiday cookie exchange party (via USPS mind you), when out of the blue I received a text from a number I did not recognize, however, I immediately knew who it was (the husband of my dearly departed friend Susan).

In between putting trays of cookies into the oven, and pulling them out 12 minutes later, the following is VERBATIM what transpired via text with him.

Full disclosure: I am full of hostility towards him for an assortment of things, however, primarily his selfishness and general asshole-ishness I've known for years, first hand from Susan. 

Another layer of my hostility is knowing that my friend drove HERSELF the 5 hour drive out to Mayo Clinic. She drove herself, while in agony, as she couldn't take opiates and be behind the wheel of the car. Driving in agony as the heel of her foot was surgically amputated as it was riddled with cancer--yet the local wound care center botched every damned thing, and was treating her as if it were a garden variety diabetic foot ulcer and not an aggressive skin cancer with a 5 year mortality rate.

And then there's another layer to my hostility: when she was rushed to the hospital the final time, and then rushed to hospice, and then when she ultimately died, not once did it occur to him to text me. Rather, Susan's son texted me to let me know she entered hospice, and then a few days later, Susan's cousin texted me to let me know she died--and a few days later, she gave me the run down on just how awful he was to everyone.

Mind you, he is Egyptian and English is a second language. As painful as it is, I typed it out EXACTLY as it appeared in text form weird spacing and phrasing etc. At times I added notes for a bit of context or nuance. Also I'm highlighting in red shit he repeats.

Him:
Hello
You might know who I'm, after that time of getting many shocks by Susan's death on my hand.
If you want this ti be the last time I talk to you or I'm not welcome, it makes no difference as I got that way from all Susan's family.
I'm ****.

Me:
Not sure what to think of this text--and of course it JUST HAD TO BE YOU.

Him:
I just wanted to purify Susan's heart to you and make everything very clear, I know you both loved each other dearly.
They all ignored me and they did not even read your beautiful message you sent the day before the funeral, they abused me after the funeral, all of them
Do you want to know more, or I go away

Me:
and yet it has taken you TWO WHOLE MONTHS to reach out to me.

Him:
I was her faithful husband for 12 years and I was watching how they all tortured that beautiful angel
Well I was scared

Me:
When she went to the hospital that final time--when she entered hospice--Susan's son R called me and her cousin texted me to let me know Susan died.

Him:
I saw mr R. talking to you, how so gentle fake

Me:
Susan treated everyone far better than I would have under the circumstances

Him:
At the same time all stopped me STOPPED me from holding her hand, rubbing her hair, reciting any spiritual verses from what supports her soul going to God
Susan's mom stopped me from gentle reading Quran, then I moved to the porch silently scared still reciting quran in myself to help Susan
They turned on loud songs close to her bed

Me:
Everything was not as it should have been.
"I" suggested to R.  playing music as it was something Susan loved

Him:
It is long misery broke Susan's heart as you probably knew
Yes her soul needed loud music (Note: I suspect he was going for sarcasm here)
That was why they turned loud songs to poor Susan who was dying (Note: she wasn't dead yet)

Me:
I am not sure what the purpose of this text is--is it to make ME feel better or make YOU feel better? She was a presence in my life for 21-22 years. I still wait for her daily texts that no longer come.

Him:
I said I'm purifying Susan from all the mess was hanging on her

Me:
Actually, no, you are trying to control the narrative.

Him:
As she wrote a year ago, a power attorney (I guess he means Power OF Attorney) to her brillian  son, M. that she dies on Islam and her usband is her Eman (chaplain)

Me:
And YET she was embalmed and put on display like a doll.

Him:
I'm trying to control nothing, I'm so very proud of my wife

Me:
You have to make your peace with what happened. I do not need you to purify anything for Susan on my behalf.
We all failed her, and we all need to sit in discomfort of that knowledge

Him:
What are you talking about me trying to control, I did not control any, until I knew I must do her wish to die on Islam (the word that bothers everybody)
No sorry, I did not fail her till today or forever, I go every few days to read what goes to her soul.
In the funeral
her mom started crying loud talking about OOO my daughter was born Christian. But I felt I must do her wish not her mom's or any body

Me:
We ALL failed her

Him:
I'm just telling you that all those people failed Susan for so long time,

Me:
You failed her too, whether you want to believe it or not.

Him:
You knew when we were in Minnesota, how she was crying and crying and how that R. told her she never cared about her

Me:
I do not need to know all these details. you DO realize she and I talked about EVERYTHING

Him:
I was her husband and not going to discuss about me
Poor Susan ,

Me:
I don't need to know these details. It was bad enough to know how bad everyone treated her when she was alive.

Him:
Poor Susan, Bless her soul
Correct, how could you tell me I failed her ,
I really wish she never came back to America on 2009

Me:
Your wife was dying and you were angry with her for sleeping when you came home from work

Him:
Me angry

Me:
I am not going to argue.

Him:
Do you not know what husband means

Me:
I know what it means TO ME

Him:
Angry? Shame on the teller and the believer

Me:
So i've asked this twice and this will be the third time--what was the purpose of texting me two months after she died.
I owe you nothing. Your wife was as dear as a sister to me for nearly half my life.

Him:
I told you I was scared from what happened by all those people
They stopped a husband to relieve his wife in what she wanted to die with ISLAM
They turned loud music to a dying person ,where is her brain or heart to feel the music (Note: she was still alive)

Me:
I am nothing to you. You reaching out to me TWO MONTHS AFTER THE FACT because you have run out of people to dump your anger onto

Him:
Also no respect to me and I do know why and I do not really care,
I'm left alone in a funeral issues were chosen by her mom and grand daughter and then left me with the cost  (NOTE: Emphasis mine)

Me:
And what--are you going to ask me to contribute?!?!?

Him:
And you knew she was a moslima
You knew her husband was taking off work for taking care of his wife (Note: Bullshit!  See my comments above regarding who drove her 5 hours one way to the Mayo Clinic)
You knew I stayed with her any where she went ,anytime

Me:
She is dead now and with her God, and what exactly? you are trying to put the squeeze on me for money to pay for her funeral arrangements?

Him:
I told you I'm purifying Susan side out of all her family
I even asked them the funeral to read that wonderful message you sent to Susan's cousin
They did not

Me:
Keep telling yourself that. You're trying to control the narrative, controlling people's perceptions of you.

Him:
Control and control
Please
Yes it should be my control from the beginning

Me:
I am not soft hearted and accepting like Susan was. I have my own opinions on the matter. (Note: Subtext--I'm a bitch! :))

Him:
But she was a mom ,she was a daughter , and she was a friend

Me:
Anyway, go sell crazy someplace else--we are all stocked up here.

Him:
Well, I think I adored Susan and she got married to me
Good luck to you, and I did told you about what I felt to tell you,I do not care what you think or whatsoever, I'm just giving respect to Susan as her husband ( remember that )
Bye
You all played on Susan, who give you permission to tell anybody to turn loud songs to a married dead wife ,youdo not respect her choice,? God how those people deal with...please I'm not going to say sorry I talked to you, I will block your number, simply you are swimming with the same circle

Me (My final reply to him wherein I lowered the boom):
anyway--I am sure you texted me to see if I would contribute to Susan's final arrangements. I was a friend of SUSAN. I am nothing to you. Perhaps if you didn't lose jobs due to your anger issues you would be a better provider and wouldn't be shaking down strangers via texts for money. Perhaps you should get your "special lady" who you were trying to live with to chip in on the funeral expenses.*

*The same day Susan died, he asked her youngest daughter (his step daughter) if she would go halfsies on the rent. She doesn't live with him--and there is some suspicion of him abusing her though her cousin and I don't have any firm details. And when her daughter declined he huffed and puffed and said something about how he'll get his "special lady" to live with him. 

I will never know if Susan knew he was cheating on her with another woman; and I'd say that knowledge was more than enough for me to be angry on her behalf. Part of me hopes she never knew. And another part of me is sad all over again that my dear friend is gone.

The Silence Is Deafening

 It is now six months since mom died. I still cannot believe it. And yet at the same time, in my head, I am remembering her not as she was in the last ten years of her life, fading away after dad died, but I am remembering her when she was more vibrant--I am remembering her at the age I am now, on her 30th wedding anniversary party. Smiling, and hair and make up both done, with her great laugh. It was a good day.

All those calls, trying to get my aunt to manipulate me into doing something for mom--all the calls and texts between me and my siblings--all that is gone too.

Death during normal times is difficult enough, but during a pandemic it has broken me in a way I cannot articulate. 

I am now finally starting to feel regret over everything--every unfinished task and every unfinished conversation. COVID took mom so quick, I had no idea my last phone call, which she rushed me off the phone--would be my last.

I am sure she wanted more than I was willing or able to give her, and I am sure she did not understand why I am the way I am; however, at the bare minimum, I hope she knew I wanted the best for her. I hope however I was able to show her I loved her, that it was enough.

Add to this, my dear friend Susan has been gone now a month--and her presence is missed daily. 

Thanksgiving is in a few weeks. Sadly no one we normally host can be trusted to be vigilant with the protocols, and as a result we won't be hosting our big dinner. 

I am so fortunate to have my husband, as if I had to endure all of this in complete solitude and isolation, I probably would have had more of an emotional breakdown than I already have had.

Mom and my friend Susan are gone--where does all the love go? Right now, it feels like it's all been sucked into a black hole.

Sweet Sue

Note: I started typing this post at 5:30 p.m., on October 7, 2020. I was going to post this to my food blog, as this post does touch upon a lovely bread kit my cousin sent me, and baking the bread bear served as a distraction for me as well as a segue for me to memorialize a dear friend--I decided to post it herein as there's a lot of overlap, especially regarding losses, and most especially, my dear friend had a family just as dysfunctional as my own.

After mom died in May, my mom’s first cousin Diane reached out to me for my mailing address. Within a week, I received a very thoughtful gift—she put together a teddy bear kit (similar to what I saw on this site today: ). The bread recipe was a variation/pared down recipe of my mom’s.

Inside the homemade kit was a ziplock bag containing the dry ingredients, a piece of parchment paper, a little zip lock bag with raisins, and the recipe/assembling instructions, as well as reflections on my mom. 

Mom passed away in May due to COVID19, and her remains were interred in June. It all happened in a blur, and was so upsetting, and neither closure nor comfort was gained with mom's final arrangements. 

With the exception of mom's cousin Diane (and on occasion my sister or one of mom's brothers), I don't hear from anyone anymore--mom's legacy to me, the result of her telling half truths and horrible stories to all who would listen to her, about being abandoned or neglected. People see what they want to see. My friend Susan, despite being ravaged by cancer, saw me through the first few months after mom passed.

I received the teddy bear kit in late June or early July when it was too hot to bake. Today, I finally baked my bear, as a distraction from more devastating news. 

I have told this story to a few of my close friends, to include my dear friend Susan. Susan and I met in a MSN chatroom 22 years ago. We have never met in person—and this has bothered me for years if not decades. All the traveling I have done, no amount of begging or cajoling could convince my husband for us to make a trip to Illinois to visit her. I am not comfortable traveling solo, so this has always been an unwinnable fight between me and the Maharajah.

Despite the geography that separated us, Susan and I were in near constant contact. Initially we communicated via emails, then phone calls, and care packages. We were always in regular contact, with her dropping off my radar from time to time, as she was working every possible moment she could. Truly, when she was healthy, she was ALWAYS working--but that is one of the hazards of working from one's home, no delineation between work time and YOUR OWN TIME. Once she was diagnosed with her cancer, we were texted nearly every day—most times multiple times a day. 

Our friendship was forged at a time when each of our first marriages went belly up, with each of us struggling to recover, both emotionally and financially. During that time frame, she and I were so destitute due to our ex-husbands, we took turns sending each other a $20 bill for bread and milk or a half a tank of gas for our cars. Things were THAT dire, and we supported one another as good friends do.

After months of struggling with a lesion on her foot, which we thought was a diabetic foot ulcer, she was diagnosed in August 2019 with an aggressive form of skin cancer known as Acral Lentiginous Melanoma, a type of skin cancer that isn't from the sun, and has a genetic component to it. From date of diagnosis, the life expectancy is about 5 years, +/-.  At the time of her diagnosis, she probably had been struggling with this lesion for about a year. 

A month after getting the stark diagnosis, I asked her the same question I asked my great Aunt Millie when Aunt Mil, in her mid-80s, declined to have heart surgery and was given 6 months to live: "What have you managed not to do, which you would like to do?" Soon thereafter, Susan bought a sewing machine and an electronic keyboard. 

Susan made me a few gifts she had sewn herself; and she sent me an audio clip of her playing piano, which she loved. Sadly, I cannot figure out how to upload that clip herein.

Given how lacking her medical care was out in what I'd call "corn country," that part of Illinois that is just across the river from Davenport, Iowa, she eventually started going to Mayo Clinic for her diagnostics, infusions, chemo, etc, often times driving herself the five hours there, and five hours home.

The last week of September, the Maharajah arranged for us to go to a cabin with a view of Lake George for a few days to get away, and do not much of anything in particular, and yet be socially distant from others, but with a considerably better view than our home, where Maharajah has been cooped up since the shut down in mid-March. 

The last text I received from Susan was on Tuesday, September 29th, wherein we both were mentioning how much we both feel we have aged during the pandemic. Her last words to me that day were, "Yes, very old." 

No matter how much loss I have gone through since August 2019 to current writing, it is indisputable, how much harder were for Susan during that time frame too--so much worse than my own suffering, as she was literally fighting for her very existence--yet she always made time and space for me.

I hope I was, at a minimum, a distraction from her suffering.

Around 6:30 on October 6th, I received a call from one of Susan's sons (who lives on the west coast), informing me she was now in hospice. I sent her son a play list of songs I knew were dear to Susan's heart, and said to her son how at least if she isn't alert and able to speak, she can still hear music which was so important to her. It remains a mystery if the son played any music at all for his mom.

After the call, I spent the greater portion of the remainder of the week just sobbing.

Around 5:30 October 7th, I decided to distract myself and make the teddy bear bread, which my cousin Diane sent to me. The photo is shared above. If Susan weren't in hospice and heavily sedated, she would be the only person, other than my cousin Diane, who would want to see that photo.

Mid-day October 8th, while on a work related phone call, I checked my phone, as I received a text from Susan's cousin Diana (odd, isn't it--the Diane/Diana connection?), who informed me Susan passed away the night before at 11:30 p.m.

Even typing this, tears filled my eyes. 

For the ENTIRETY of the 22 years I knew her, I bore witness to how she struggled very hard, first with work to provide for her kids and pay for household needs, struggled through the failure of her second marriage, struggled more and gave up on life in the US for a while and went to Egypt to live with her third husband and his family. She struggled when she returned to the US when her 6th child, her 1st and only with her third husband, died not long after birth. Then the death of her brother and eventually her father.

Besides the heartbreak of watching my friend grieve for her youngest, she endured many struggles with her five remaining kids. Her eldest is profoundly autistic and now is thriving in a group home; her second oldest has cut her off completely. Her middle child was always verbally and emotionally abusive. And her second youngest was verbally, emotionally, and most horrendously--PHYSICALLY abusive to her. 

After Susan had her leg amputated this summer, she was fearful of this child visiting her, as she was afraid of being attacked in her wheelchair. Meanwhile, I know that the son (who called me) was emotionally damaging to her, too. Some of the last texts from her regarding that son she told me how she was trying to tell him that she got her leg amputated, and rather than show shock or concern, he brushed her off, saying how he had to go to work.

Pretty typical of abusive relationships, her mom and her kids (and no doubt her husband) all have very distinctly different ideas about what Susan's reality was. Her final days were filled with agonizing physical pain and despair, and feeling like nothing more than a punching bag half the time, and a human ATM the remainder of the time. 

Her youngest is now 18. All her kids are grown and onto their own paths. NOW should have been HER time to follow HER dreams, whatever they would have been. Unfortunately, just trying to survive took all her focus and energy and what resources she had.

Her viewing and burial were yesterday, and from what her cousin tells me, it was a shit show, with her husband controlling everything, making it all about HIM, and turns out, he was cheating on her with "someone special," a detail that just made my heart sank, and makes me glad Susan isn't here to endure one more indignity, one more loss. In so many ways, those closest to her, failed her.

Through the years, she held my hand (as best as one can do without being physically there), through all of my own travails, and especially all my difficulties with my mom. 

I hoped one day, I'd be there one day to hug her, perhaps have one perfect afternoon going to her favorite sandwich shop, perhaps go to a Frank Lloyd Wright house, sit and laugh. Just enjoy being in her actual, physical company. This is my solitary regret.

I am thinking of her as I listen to this song, a song my grandfather used to sing to me too. However, between Susan and myself, I think she was the sweeter of the two of us. 

I missed you before you were even gone, Susan. I love you, sweet Sue.

Two Months Later (and some Dayenus in there, too)

 Here it is, two months since my last blog post. Not much to tell.

I survived my first (of many) birthdays without the annual birthday calls. First the call the day before, forgetting that my day was the following day, then the call/s on the day. Then the calls thereafter to see if I got my card.

Why was I so hard on her (in my head)? I never let her know how she was driving me crazy with all her calls. But that is the rub, more like a CHAFE, of dealing with someone who had so much emotional baggage: I couldn't tell what was an obsessively sweet gesture, making sure I wasn't forgotten on my birthday, versus someone trying to control me or demand more attention from me. 

I'm trying to do in death what I was unable to do in life, and try to sort it out, try to be the adult, and try to remember the good.

Also, had I known with any certitude whether she had some cognitive deficiency, or some known pathological issue or mental illness, I don't know if I would have reacted differently. I just don't know. She's gone and I'm left with all these questions. 

Meanwhile, today, a very dear friend is shredding herself for forgetting my birthday. And I'm now sitting at my desk sobbing. I didn't realize it at the time she forgot my day. This has been such a horrible, overwhelming year, it truly is no wonder my friend forgot. 

To be honest, I was so distracted with 2020's awfulness, I hadn't noticed I was forgotten. But now I realize in this moment I was forgotten by my friend, and I'm remembering mom's not here, and even as crazy and challenging as our relationship was, we always spoke on our birthdays--though her telephone fuckery with her cell phone made that an unnecessary challenge. At least I know that mom's final birthday was a good day--she even left a cheerful voicemail to that effect. A voicemail I managed to save--as well as a few others, from Christmas 2019, right on through until April 9th when she let me know everyone was alerted that COVID19 was in her nursing home. Needless to say, I've freely forgiven my friend--she's truly beating herself up over it--and I feel awful about it. There is so much more going on in the world for me to be angry and upset about.

Had Trump been elected, that would have been awful enough--Dayenu.
Had COVID19 happened--Dayenu.
Had mom died--Dayenu.
Had 190,000+ others died of COVID--Dayenu.
Had 50 Million people lost their jobs--Dayenu.
Had the murder hornets and volcano sharks and fire tornado happened--Dayenu.
Had the entire fucking west coast be ablaze with wildfires--Dayenu.
Had the endless protests regarding police brutality weren't enough--Dayenu.
Children in cages, families separated... the list goes on. Sadly it goes on. Dayenu.

Had just, merely any ONE of these things happened and none of the others--DAYENU... it would have been sufficiently awful enough, but to have a single year where all of these things are happening simultaneously, it is devastating. 

And on top of all this, is the knowledge that despite every thing I just typed out, despite the enormous shit-heap that 2020 is, and despite how very unsafe it is to do so, much like having mom's burial in June when we couldn't comfort each other in our grief, or sit down and share a meal and fond remembrances of mom--my cousin hosted a retirement party for mom's sister. There were 30 people there, and no, I did not attend.

How could they all act like nothing happened? The tragedy of mom dying alone and terrified, and neglected by hospice? This plague is still going on, and we will surely see a surge in cases as the weather cools down. I think it was reckless to have a party now.

Sometime this week will be a retirement luncheon for a (now former friend) co-worker. Our agency has a mandate to social distance. And no. I am not attending this party either. 

Each social engagement I decline, I am filled with rage, not that I feel I must decline, but filled with rage that people are risking so much for something that can wait. 

I know that anger is one of the stages of grief, but I don't have mere anger--I am filled with rage. 

Even from a young age, I wanted justice for mom, and even at the age of 12, I stood up to dad's mother on mom's behalf. Justice from her abusive father. Justice from those who humiliated her due to her weight. And as she was on the verge of actively dying, I tried to get justice from the department of health and other agencies/entities, and all they did after the fact was shrug and say, "The facility is in compliance now." Not even an "I'm sorry for your loss" was uttered. 

So all that said, I suppose, whatever justice I will get for mom will be second-hand. Perhaps safeguarding myself and my husband could be justice. Staying safe and healthy for as long as I can. Even as she lay in her room motionless and dying once she was loaded with morphine and ativan, the last thing she would have wanted would be for her kids to hold her hand, knowing how very risky it was for all of us. But part of me feels some measure of guilt or shame or responsibility that somehow I should have made that happen. None of that is useful now. And even if I made a valiant attempt, if she had the ability to speak, she would have talked me out of it.

Pretty "On Brand" For Mom: Discussion With My Uncle

I had a nice conversation with the older of mom's two brothers. This uncle is my god father--though to be honest, I hadn't had all that much to do with him prior to his move to Florida back in the 1980s; and only in the last couple of years had we started texting on our phone.

He told me a story of the day mom introduced him to my dad. At the time, my uncle had lost a lot of weight. He took a shower and put on some loose pants without a belt and headed to the kitchen to get something to eat. Mom and dad were in the kitchen and when my uncle walked in, mom introduced him to dad. As she said, "And this is my brother--" she yanked my uncle's pants down (and yes, my uncle was COMMANDO under his pants).

I couldn't even laugh. I blurted out, "My god, you HAD to have been mortified!" and my next words were,"Pretty predictable for mom!" 

The remainder of my conversation with my uncle was very nice, and he talked about how much he really enjoyed my dad--and I like to think my dad enjoyed this uncle, as they had so much in common.

The fact that mom "pantsed" my uncle does make me wonder what on earth would make her think that was acceptable, or what OTHER equally mortifying things she did or were done to her while she lived with her parents. 

WHO DOES THAT?

Paperwork Part Deux

Not much to report other than:

1. Health Department contacted me via phone and stated that Shady Pines is NOW in compliance--and I guess I don't have any other recourse through the Health Department.

2. Joint Commission contacted me via email and stated that Shady Pines didn't get their accreditation through them--so there's no recourse through them.

3. I am still waiting to hear back from CAR-F.

My sister is now to the point where she doesn't want to talk about mom, and while I do understand it, this also means unless she (and our brother) choose to participate, the idea of me seeking any kind of damages from Shady Pines for an untimely death etc, will be an uphill battle, and I don't have it in me to go through this if I have to fight with them regarding it.

I have set a Google alert for the name of Shady Pines + class action law suit hoping that at some point, at least two of the 30 impacted families (at last count) will take the initiative to initiate a class action law suit--unlikely as it may be.

Lodging complaints won't bring mom back. A class action lawsuit won't bring her back either; however, a class action law suit would be a very very dilute bit of justice: justice from Shady Pines for their negligence; and justice regarding getting some kind of restitution for my parents' thievery. It's more than a bit ghoulish to think of restitution, and perhaps what also keeps me from acting on the impulse to try to sue is appearing as if I were trying to exploit mom's death for my financial gain.